Page 39 of Unloved

His eyes go wide, body shooting upright. “Donotask them anything.”

“But you just said—”

He looks mildly frantic. “Forget what I said,” he growls, and rubs his hands over his face. “My brain hurts. I don’t know what I’m saying. Just… just tell him you want him. Kiss him and tell him exactly what you want him to do to you, okay?”

“Okay.” I nod, but I’m already resigned because I’vetriedthat.

“I think we should be done for tonight. I’ve got somewhere to be,” Freddy says, standing quickly.

My stomach drops. I try to say thank you or apologize, but he’s gone too fast, nearly sprinting out of the library like he can’t escape fast enough.

CHAPTER 15Freddy

My phone is ringing, and after a week of only talking about reading strategy and working on biology homework, I’m hoping it might be Ro calling to talk about nothing again.

Unfortunately, it’s not.

“I’ve been calling you for a week straight.”

The gruff voice has my back up immediately. “I’m busy.”

“Not too busy to meet with Gavins.”

“How did you—” I close my eyes and massage the pulsing between my eyebrows. “You know what? Never mind. I don’t care. What do you want?”

“Did Archer get you the in with Dallas?”

“No,” I growl, rising to the bait he dangles so easily. “My fucking skills did that, asshole.”

My father laughs. “More like me every day, huh?”

I’m nothing like him. I’m nothing like him. I’m nothing like him.

“Dallas gave me the deal. Me, alone. And it’s better than you could’ve ever done.”

“Sure,” he mocks. “Before or after Archer played father at the conference table?”

“Fuck off,” I shout, pacing my room in earnest now. “I’m not talking about Archer.”

“So defensive—”

I hang up, throwing the phone back toward my bed before cranking up the volume of the TV—on the screen is some internet show I’ve watched for years that comforts me even now—before heading into the bathroom for a long shower, hoping the steam and heat will wash away the hatred and gnawing guilt and fury swirling in my head.

Practice is shit.

I’m frustrated, for multiple reasons that I don’twantto think about, but also because of this. Hockey is my one thing, my escape. But we’re playing like shit and it’s all Toren fucking Kane’s fault.

We’ve been running the same drill for nearly half an hour and our line—first line—can’t get the puck down the ice because Holden and Kane can’t get themselves together.

Part of me wants to scream at them to handle themselves, while the other part of me is ready to come to blows with Coach Harris to point out exactly how fucking stupid bringing Kane on the team is. Expecting a loyal junior like Holden, who thrives under Rhys’s attention and guidance, who views him like a near god, to play defensive partner to the player who nearly killed him? It doesn’t make sense.

And then there’s Rhys, who still looks a little worse for wear. I won’t admit it to the others, but I see him struggling a bit. Every now and then he starts breathing harder, like he’s out of shape when I know he isn’t… It’s something else.

But if he wants to keep his pain and secrets to himself, so be it. I know my place. I’m notreallypart of the Koteskiy-Reiner duo. I’m the pretty third wheel.

“Again.”

I wait for a moment, licking the sweat starting to drip off my lips and trying to calm the heavy breaths sawing out of me. My eyes flick to Rhys again, waiting for him to say something, to speak towhat we’re all feeling. But he stays silent, seething as he looks toward Kane.

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